


Scar Tissue

by TophsLegacy



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Slow Burn, adam is an asshole but that's not new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22691365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TophsLegacy/pseuds/TophsLegacy
Summary: “Just ask for Yang and tell her I sent you, she’ll get you all set up!”Ruby’s words ran through her head as she stepped out of her car in the gym parking lot. Her book club was the last place she expected to get advice about getting into boxing, but of course, the events in her life always had a hint of irony. Having a world champion boxer with the gentlest disposition for a father but falling for a scrappy street fighter with a wicked smile, rose-tinted glasses stopping her from seeing his disposition was anything but gentle. Why would the irony stop even after she had realized how it ran as deep as the bruises she’d had to hide.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 106
Kudos: 332





	1. Chapter 1

_There were just. So. Many. People._ It’s all Blake could think about upon entering the arena with her mom, clutching Kali’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her feet on the ground. The sloped seating was packed to the rafters with people, the whole building vibrating with anticipation for the title match that was about to start. They made their way to the reserved seats near the front and sat down. The lights hitting the ring were almost blinding, reflecting off the mat with such intensity that it made it hard to focus on anything else. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, about to ask when the fight would start when she was interrupted by three loud dings. The lights over the audience plunging into darkness, the crowd roaring in excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” An energetic voice boomed and echoed through the speakers making Blake flinch and cover her ears with her hands. Kali reached over to help muffle the sound, knowing the rest of the introductions were going to be just as loud. “Now for the title match! Twelve rounds of boxing for the International Heavyweight Championship!” Three more dings sounded as streams of light washed over the crowd.

“Introducing first –the challenger – on my right fighting out of the red corner, entering the ring in olive green trunks with black trim, hailing from Chicago, Illinois, Hazel “Willpower” Rainart!” Sections of the crowd exploded into cheers as the giant of a man stood in his corner, shaking out his limbs and stretching his neck. Blake’s eyes going wide with apprehension, he was only slightly taller than her dad, but his shoulders were so much wider, arms much thicker with muscle than Ghira’s.

“And his opponent across the ring, the defending Champion, fighting out of the blue corner, really needs no introduction – wearing purple trunks with white trim, the Senator fighting out of and proudly representing the Philippines, here is a legend of boxing – an icon of the sport and future Hall of Famer. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome eight-time raining and defending champion, the one and only - Ghiiiiiiiira “The Panther” Belladonna!” The entire crowd irrupting as Ghira raised his gloved fists into the air, smiling through his mouth guard, three more dings echoing through the room.

The crowd was on its feet as the rules were hastily spoken into the microphone. Both boxers in their corners speaking to coaches and being prepped for the fight ahead. Kali cataloged her husband and his opponent trying to tamp her nerves, it was like this before all his fights. Her worst fears lived in the anticipation, imagining the pain was like enduring it twice.

Kali didn’t like to bring Blake to her father’s bouts, kids didn’t need to see violence glorified and celebrated. Not to mention the anxiety of watching someone you love bleed. The pit that could grow in one’s stomach knowing defeat was imminent, that undue pressure was not meant for children. The day a child finds out their parents are fallible is the first day on their path out of childhood. But this wasn’t a normal bout for Ghira Belladonna, this was his last. Win or lose, this year's International Heavyweight Championship would be the last time Ghira Belladonna stepped into a ring and the finality of it was monumental for the whole Belladonna family. Kali couldn’t let her daughter miss what could be the pinnacle of success for her father. The final triumph in a long career of accolades.

Ghira in the ring was nothing like Blake was expecting, but still so very familiar. The sheer intensity on his face was such a juxtaposition to the soft caring approach he took at home, it was a sight to behold. The focus on his goal so clear in his features, eyes burning, mouth set in a line so rigid a fist couldn’t break it, chin ducked and ready. It imbued Blake with a strange sense of pride for her father that she’d never had before. It was the feeling of standing on top of a skyscraper staring down at the earth with no fear of falling.

Hazel “Willpower” Rainart truly lived up to his nickname. He was all aggression, almost constantly tilted forward with a sneer on his lips, ready to take every shot he could and even ones he shouldn’t. Ghira round after round working from his back foot, outmaneuvering his opponent and kept the upper hand. Landing jabs crosses and hooks to take rounds.

Even with Ghira clearing leading, that didn’t mean he was getting away untouched. Kali flinched when he took a heavy left hook to the temple, eyebrow splitting with crimson. His recovery didn’t take long and he gave Hazel the same treatment in the next round – Hazel did not recover as fast.

By the tenth Hazel started to drop his hands, exhausted by his own approach and that’s when Ghira spurred into action, he let out a flurry of body shots, finishing with a devastating right hook to Hazel's jaw. Blake had never seen someone hit the ground that hard, face down on the mat completely still, she held her breath, the crowd roaring and jumping out of their seats. The referee knelt over Hazel to start the count, but everyone in the stands knew it was over, people around them started to chant Ghira’s name until it echoed like a battle cry through the stadium.

Kali gripped Blake’s shoulders, nudging her toward the walkway, in her confusion Blake moved her legs, not sure why they were leaving their seats. Kali guided her down to the ring where Ghira was waiting for them at the edge, covered in sweat and a little bit of dried blood on his eyebrow, gloves removed with a towel on one of his shoulders. Before she could register what was happening Ghira was hauling her up into the ring between the ropes, effortlessly sitting her on his shoulder. “Ready to win this with me my little panther cub?” He says as he steadies her with his hand. Blake’s face flashing with a grin that was so big it almost hurt, Ghira chuckling as he turned toward the center of the ring.

Bringing them to the center of the ring, Ghira took his position, the referee grabbing his wrist along with Hazels. Who was a little wobbly, but standing none the less. Around her the ring was filled with high-level executives, coaching staff, photographers and camera operators all smiling and shaking hands, snapping photos and moving around the fighters. Cameras flashing as the commentator stood at the center of the ring, raising the microphone in his hand, “Winner by knockout in the tenth round, now nine-time International Heavyweight champion of the world, Ghira “The Panther” Belladonna!” The entire room shaking as Ghira’s hand was raised into the air by the referee, at the same time he squeezed Blake’s side, making her giggle and squirm with the most genuine smile on her face – eyes closed and nose scrunched.

A flurry of camera flashes went off. Blake didn’t know it at the time, but the entire world was witnessing the happiest moment of her childhood. A split second at age ten, frozen in film to follow her through the years to come.

\--

 _“Just ask for Yang and tell her I sent you, she’ll get you all set up!”_ Ruby’s words ran through her head as she stepped out of her car in the gym parking lot. Her book club was the last place she expected to get advice about getting into boxing, but of course, the events in her life always had a hint of irony. Having a world champion boxer with the gentlest disposition for a father but falling for a scrappy street fighter with a wicked smile, rose-tinted glasses stopping her from seeing his disposition was anything but gentle. Why would the irony stop even after she had realized how it ran as deep as the bruises she’d had to hide.

Walking into the Dueling Dragons Boxing Gym hit her with an instant wave of nostalgia, the smell of the leather punching bags, the rhythmic thump of speed bags bouncing against their hanging plates, the slap of sparing gloves hitting focus mitts, it all sent her back. Instead of letting Blake watch Ghira’s matches, Kali would often take her to visit her dad while he was training. She got familiar with his home gym and spent a lot of time running around between heavy bags while he finished his training sessions.

Lost in her nostalgia she wandered up to the edge of the sparring ring. An older blonde man in full sparring gear was trying to evade the advances of a blonde woman that wore a smirk like her favorite T-shirt, no sparring gear in sight – clad only in training shorts and a sports bra, leaving a very large dragon tattoo on her right arm on display.

She made eye contact with the older man and he flashed her a smile so wide she could swear he’d just saw a friend from years past. He looked back up at his opponent and blocked her hook and sidestepped as he laughed, “Alright champ, take a breath – looks like we have a new trainee that just walked in, let’s see what you can do for her. I need to go get Sun started on footwork anyway.” The blonde sucked in air as she spun on her heel, flashing a very similar smile to the one the man had just given her. She hopped through the ropes bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of Blake, still breathing a little heavy from the sparring match.

“Hey, sorry we didn’t see you sooner. My name is Yang, what can I do for you?” Yang settled her hands on her hips, still wearing that same smile she had flashed her from the ring. Blake was a little taken aback at how warm and inviting it was, it made it a little easier to not let her eyes wander to the many defined muscles still flexing and relaxing with Yang’s breathing.

“Your…. Ruby’s sister?” Blake shifted her weight to one foot, slipping her hands into her pockets to avoid fidgeting. Cataloging Yang’s features with a slight bit of doubt showing though on her face. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting Ruby’s sister to look like, but a beautiful muscular blonde wasn’t exactly it, not that she was complaining.

“Sure am.” Yang relaxing onto the heels of her feet and crossing her arms, her welcoming smile shifting into the same smirk she was wearing in the ring, “Were you expecting someone shorter? Squeaky and hyperactive maybe? Or is it just the blonde hair and muscles that are throwing you off?” Flexing her biceps as if to punctuate her last question.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a test, that Yang was expecting to hear the same thing for the hundredth time, she wasn’t sure what it was. Blake mirrored her smirk and crossed arms, feeling ready for a challenge, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you strike me as someone with more depth than the stereotype you’re expecting me to settle for.”

Blake raises an eyebrow at the same time Yang’s smirk faltered. She’d been caught and she knew it. Shaking her head and letting a much smaller, genuine smile show through, “Seems unfair to be called out on my bullshit without even knowing your name.”

Blake reaches out a hand as if to shake Yang’s, “I’m Blake. Blake Belladonna. I am definitely telling Ruby you called her squeaky the next time we get together for book club.”

Yang rushes to take off one of her sparring gloves to take Blake’s hand. Scoffing as they shook hands, “You say that like it’s a threat, Rubes knows I call her squeaky, it’s been a running joke since we were kids. Book club huh -” Yang’s eyes flicking back up to Blake’s, eyebrows furrowing, “Wait, did you say Belladonna? As in nine-time International Heavyweight Champion Ghira “The Panther” Belladonna!?” Yang emphasizes his nickname like a ringside announcer, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Sometimes I forget how infamous he is in some circles, I mostly just called him dad.”, Blake tried to stay neutral while confirming Yang’s suspicions. Called. She hadn’t spoken to her dad in almost a decade, it was hard to fight back the lump forming in her throat thinking about him, “He retired from boxing pretty early in my life so I knew him more as the Senator than as a boxer.”

“Holy. Fucking. Shit.” Yang drops her hands to her sides, excitement turning to curiosity, “Wait, seriously? And you want to train… here?”

“Well, it would be a little difficult for him to teach me all the way from the Philippines.” Something about humor let her hold the real emotion of it at a distance. Wearing her snark like a layer of armor, not wanting her problems to make a home here.

“Cool cool cool cool cool….” Clearly, Yang was still trying to take in the realization of who Blake was while trying not to completely freak her out, Blake thought it was adorable, “So this might be weird, but you were going to see it eventually…”, Yang sheepishly pointing at a wall behind Blake, “We keep a Champions wall to inspire our clients and your picture is on it…”

She hadn’t noticed it when she walked in but sure enough on closer inspection of the wall full of framed photographs, there it was. Her at age ten with pigtails, perched on Ghira’s shoulder giggling as his hand was raised in the air. The calm on his face would make you think he hadn’t just broken his own record, one that still stood. It had been fifteen years since it was taken, there was so much she wished she could tell that version of herself, in the hopes she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

Blake gripped her own forearm and let out a breath, “So…. training.” Yang’s head snapping away from looking at the photos and refocusing on Blake, that same warm smile on her face. It seemed like Yang had missed Blake’s journey into her past, “Right! Let’s sort this out. I have to ask a few questions, then we can gauge what skill and endurance level you’re at to create a benchmark.”

She follows Yang as they walk back up to the front of the gym. Without Yang looking at her she had the chance to let her eyes wander a little, difficult not to appreciate the hard work Yang had put into getting the physique she had. Admiring the way the ink of the tattoo on her arm somehow made the muscles more impressive. Blake snapped her head back up when she heard Yang chuckling, thinking she was caught staring her muscles tensed, ready to make a hasty apology.

“Looking mighty slow there Sun! Even my old man could take you out with that sloppy footwork.” Yang was still faced away from her, now focusing on the young blonde man training with the older man from the ring.

The older man didn’t look up, waving her on with a huff, “Yeah. Yeah. Don’t forget I taught you everything you know kiddo.” Yang’s face hardened, lips set in a hard line. It looked like she was trying to hold back a comment, it seemed like a strange response to Blake with how they had laughed with each other in the ring.

Sun was easily distracted, puffing his chest out and waving one arm in front of him, “Hold up Tai – Come on, it’s not that bad. I bet I could get a few hits on you!” He jests while turning away from Tai to face her, mock throwing a few swings in front of him.

Yang slows her step but doesn’t stop, fiddling with the strap on one of her gloves with a non-committal smirk, “You really want to play with fire like that monkey boy?”

Tai swats the back of the younger man’s head, “Focus Wukong, getting goaded like that is why you don’t stand a chance of landing a hit on her.” Yang burst into laughter, glancing at Blake with a small smile. Walking at a normal pace again and stopping once they reached the front desk.

Yang hops up to sit on the desk, taking off her gloves and leaning over to grab a clipboard from the other side of a computer monitor, readying herself with a pencil, “Alright, so what would you say best describes your physical activity level –sedentary, moderate or extreme?”

“Moderate.” She affirms. Blake made a habit of going on runs to clear her mind after leaving home and until recently there was a lot she needed to clear, after that, it became routine – like scratching an itch on a scar that had already healed.

Yang nods her head, checking a box with the pencil, “Good. When was your last work out and how would you describe your frequency of exercise over the last six months?”

“I went for a run yesterday, I usually run for an hour or more three to four times a week.” Yang raises an eyebrow and nods again as she scribbles something on the paper attached to the clipboard.

“Then we won’t be starting from scratch, that’s a good thing. Your endurance might be in a pretty good place already.”

Blake had to stifle a cynical chuckle, instead thinking to herself _Being with him was like constantly running a marathon with the street falling away behind you, but I guess that’s a different kind of endurance…_

“Alright, last question. What are your goals? What would you like to get out of your training? Looking to bring the Belladonna name back to professional boxing?” Yang seemed very invested in the last question, even if it didn’t feel like she was expecting a serious answer.

Blake had to pause. There were a lot of reasons why she was doing this, but Yang didn’t need that baggage, her burdens were hers alone. “Nothing like that.” Blake sputters, trying to find a safe answer, “Um. Well. Even though my dad is who he is, I never learned how to box, and I feel like it’s an easy way to feel close to him while I’m living so far away from home.” It was true enough, but defiantly not the only reason.

“Wow. That’s really sweet Blake.” Yang sets the clipboard on her thighs and crosses her arms over it, leaning in slightly as her face softens. She looks at her with a softness that felt extremely out of place for a first meeting.

Blake let loose a wry smile, needing to defect the tenderness of the moment, “Being good at punching things seemed like a cheap answer.” Snark. Armor. The distance was safe.

Yang laughs and shifts off the desk, letting the moment end at Blake’s queue, “We can make that happen too, but let’s start with your endurance. We will need to do a few exercises to see where you’re at. You ready to sweat?”

Blake has to school every muscle in her face not to give away where her mind had just gone, surely Yang was just talking about training. Instead, she gave a nod, following her to an empty part of the open floor, trying to ignore the burning that was no doubt turning the tips of her ears an embarrassing shade of red. Yang hands her a jump rope and fishes a stopwatch out of her pocket.

Yang rests her thumb against the button on the stopwatch, “This one will be pretty simple. Just jump rope as long as you can, you’re going until failure here so don’t hold back.”

 _“going until failure.”_ Blake has to stop herself from finding the irony in Yang’s words and gets into a stance with the rope in both her hands, starting a comfortable rhythm, at the same time Yang presses the button on the stopwatch.

She wasn’t sure how long it really took, but by the time her feet caught in the rope her chest was burning and she could feel every muscle in her body pulsing. Trying to catch her breath she drops the rope to the ground and rests her hands on her knees, her legs shaking underneath her.

“Go ahead and rest for a few minutes but stay loose – if you sit still the whole time it’s only going to be worse. I’ll be right back I just have to grab a few things for your next test.” Yang bounces across the floor as Blake stands up and lets her arms fall to her sides. Shaking out and stretching her arms and legs, her breathing starts to slow down.

“Alright, good news. There are only two tests – so this is the last one. Here.” Yang hands her a pair of sparring gloves. It wasn’t hard to guess what the second test was going to be. Blake slips the gloves on while Yang puts on the focus mitts. Yang claps hers together once Blake fastens the Velcro around her wrists. Blake appreciates Yang’s energetic approach; it was a good distraction from the stiffness already forming in her legs.

Yang smirks and puts the mitts out in front of her, “Show me what you’ve got shorty.” That smirk coupled with her words definitely gave Blake the motivation to take a few swings.

Blake scoffs, “Shorty? You’ve got to be kidding. You’re what, two, three inches taller? Spare me.” She was pretty sure Yang was doing this on purpose to get her to put some force behind her punches – she could speak from experience in saying that you couldn’t really know a person until you’ve seen them lose control.

“Feisty. I like it. Let’s see if we can get your jab as sharp as your mouth.” She claps the focus mitts together again, refocusing on the task at hand. If Blake wasn’t ready to swing before, she really was now. Blake let loose on the focus mitts, keeping her chin tilted down and thrusting her arms forward as hard as she can one after the other. It was easy to find the motivation to lash out, even after Yang’s comments had lost their weight, her mind fills with memories she’d like to swing at. Realizing there had been no instruction on when to stop, she doesn’t, not until her arms are numb and her chest heaves harder than it had after the first test.

Yang looks at her knowingly once Blake drops her hands, “Well, I think we can check ‘good at punching things’ off the list.” Yang takes off the focus mitts and grins at Blake, grabbing a water bottle from the floor and cracking the lid before she holds it out for Blake to grab.

All Blake could do was let out a huff of air, she can’t muster a full laugh with her lungs on fire.  
“Damn, I guess I’ve peaked.” Her breathing evens out enough to let a small smile settle on her lips. While drinking her water Yang picks up the clipboard, starting to write again. 

“So, Blake “I’ve Peaked” Belladonna, I’d like to start you off at two sessions a week until your body gets acclimated to the intensity the workouts, how does that sound?” Yang looks up from her clipboard with a smirk.

“It sounds reasonable. And once I am used to it? How often will I be seeing you then?” She tries not to think about how eager her last question could have made her seem. It was a genuine curiosity, but the reality of wanting to stare at Yang more often than twice a week did crop up at the back of her mind.

Yang’s eyes flash with a challenge, “That is entirely up to you, as often as you think you can handle.”

_Oh. This was going to be fun._

\--

_You pushed past your limits today so don’t be surprised if your body fights back._

The idea of others acknowledging her limits was still a little foreign. Yang had told her to ice her muscles to tamper the soreness, so there she lay, sprawling out across her couch covered in zip lock bags of ice cubes from the freezer. Even after stretching her limbs still felt like they were full of lead.

Hearing the rustle of keys outside the front door could only mean one thing. Ilia was about to get the best laugh of her life. Ilia walked into the living room, stopping to stand at the end of the couch looking down at Blake. They stare into each other’s eyes, not saying a word, expressionless for what feels like a full minute.

Finally, Ilia breaks the silence, “You look like shit.” Blake starts to laugh but stops when the movement becomes too much.

Ilia drops her keys on the coffee table, finally cracking a small smile, amused by Blake’s many homemade ice packs, “Is this going to become a regular thing? Because if you cause water damage to this apartment, I’m leaving you with the repair bill.”

“Such loving and kind words of comfort from my best friend of how long?” She says, voice laced with mirth.

“Twelve years Blake, twelve hilariously long years.”

An ice pack starts to shift and fall off her arm, on instinct, she jerks to catch it and suffers greatly for it. Her muscles screaming in protest as she wheezes, “Did you get my text?”

Ilia giggles and takes pity on her best friend, “Yes, and I got your tea.” She lifts the grocery bag in her hand. “I’ll even make you a cup if you think you can sit up enough to drink it.”

Blake shifts to prop her head up by the armrest, not needing verbal confirmation Ilia walks into the kitchen. After a few minutes, she reappears in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe, twisting the cap off a beer while she waits for the water to boil. “So other than being completely destroyed, how was it?”

Blake couldn’t see her from her spot on the couch, so she didn’t feel the need to hide the size of the smile that split across her face. “It was… not what I was expecting, but I think it’s going to be good for me.”

Ilia pushs off the doorframe to walk over, resting her elbows on the back of the couch and leaning forward to confirm her suspicion, “Alright, clearly there’s more to the story, I haven’t seen you smile like that in years. Spill Belladonna.”

Blake narrows her eyes, not ready to give everything away yet. It had only been one day, there was nothing solid yet, just the feeling of something that could be, “I’m just excited to learn how to box, you know I’ve wanted this for a while. When I walked into that gym it was like stepping back into my childhood. It was like seeing my parents again Ilia, you know why this is so important to me.”

Ilia takes a sip of her beer, not breaking eye contact, there was truth in Blake’s statement; she knew. But there was something behind the blatant honesty she was trying to hide. “Okay.” Letting Blake think she’d won was the best way to get the truth out of her reaction. “So, how’s the trainer? Are they hot?”

Blake’s eyes widen. Critical hit. Twelve years. She didn’t know why she thought she’d get away with this, still trying to play it off. “She’s good. She’s nice.” She shifts the ice packs to avoid looking directly at Ilia, knowing her poker face was not going to work this time.

Before Ilia can continue the kettle starts to scream from the kitchen. She sets her beer down on the end table and walks back to the kitchen. Blake knows the conversation isn’t over, tying not to think about Yang was the only way she could deflect Ilia. But that had been the problem all afternoon, she couldn’t stop thinking about Yang. She’d be lying if she said it had nothing to do with her appearance – nobody could deny that she was drop-dead gorgeous – but it was also the banter, the random soft moments, she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face just thinking about her. Shit.

Ilia came around the couch with Blake's mug of tea. She holds it out as if to give it to her but right as Blake reaches for it, it’s pulled out of her reach. “So. Is she hot?” Blake reaches further only to be thwarted again; Ilia raises an eyebrow in challenge. It was clear she wasn’t getting her tea until she answered the question.

“She not, not hot?” Her voice raises a few octaves while trying to deflect, a sly smile forming by the end. She is going to hold onto this admission as long as she can. Ilia lets out a long sigh and hands over the tea, settling on the floor, back resting against the front of the couch. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Honestly, you’ve always been bad at this.” She shakes her head and reaches for her beer.

“Bad at what?” Blake tries to shift her position but every muscle in her body protests. She sips her tea trying to move as little as possible.

“Don’t make me explain it, it just makes it worse.” There was no point in telling Blake how obvious she was, she’d catch up eventually. For now, all Ilia can do is ask for more harmless details, “So can I at least know her name?”

“It’s Yang. She’s the older sister of one of the girls in book club.” She tries to keep it a matter of fact.

Ilia narrows her eyes, “Why does that name seem so familiar… Hold on.” Ilia bolts up and disappears behind her bedroom door, only to emerge moments later clutching a copy of Sports Illustrated. “Is her last name Xiao Long?”

The question gives Blake pause, she realizes she hadn’t found out her last name. “I don’t know. Why?”

Ilia riffles through the pages of the magazine, landing on an article with a few different action shots, “Is this your trainer?” She turns the page to Blake and sure enough, it was Yang. The title of the article being the real shock – _Small Town Fighter Makes a Big Name as the Youngest International Women’s Light Heavyweight Champion_

Skimming the article is surreal, Yang had been so unassuming in person – she would have expected an arrogance that wasn’t there at all, world champions don’t train just anyone.

Blake lets out a breath, “Yeah, that’s her.”

Ilia scrambles for her phone and pulls up a video of the championship fight, sitting down in front of Blake again. The pair watch in silence. The fight doesn’t last all twelve rounds, Yang manages to evade most of her opponent’s advances, landing powerful shots in very small openings, tactical, calculated. The focused expression was so different from anything Yang had shown her in their first meeting. It just makes Blake more curious, but a voice crops up in the back of her head. _I piqued your interest like that too, in the beginning, my love._ She knows they aren’t really his words, just his claws – digging into the back of her mind, his presence is still so loud when it wants to be.

Ilia still enthralled in the fight, brings the phone closer to her face – completely unaware of what was happening behind her, “Damn, no wonder you didn’t want to tell me about her. She’s like, the hottest person I’ve ever seen.”

Blake manages to pull herself back into her living room, the ghost of his fingertips still lingering, a sting but not the burning that had consumed her. “Oh, come on, do you really think that’s all it takes?” She wasn’t expecting an answer, but sure enough.

Ilia doesn’t hesitate, “I mean for me, yeah. Do you think she has time to train me too?”

Blake attempts to school her features; Ilia was trying to goad her into admitting something she still couldn’t say out loud. Instead, she decides that shoving an ice pack down Ilia’s shirt is the better way to deal it, she does just that. And honestly, the squeal of surprise is worth the searing protest from her muscles.


	2. Chapter 2

Walking back into the gym with her newfound knowledge about Yang, she takes a quick glance over at the wall of champions. Yang’s photo is nowhere to be found. Curiosity percolates in her mind, a slow drip of intrigue that she has no intention of stopping. 

Yang is waiting for her, leaning against the front desk and making idle conversation with the receptionist. 

“Jaune you literally threw up in the ring. You’ve more than earned it,” Yang scolds the poor blonde man that was now leaning back in the office chair with both hands resting on his face. 

“It was one time, I hardly think that justifies what will no doubt be a lifetime of shit from all of you,” he says with an exacerbated breath, slightly muffled by his own hands. 

“Hey Blake! How are you doing today?” Yang pushes off the desk, completely leaving her conversation behind. 

“I’m fine, but he doesn’t look too good, is he okay?” she says as she takes in the sight of the sorry man behind the desk. 

“Oh, Jaune? He’s fine. It’s just his ego that’s wounded.” Yang laughs while Jaune groans and gives Blake a weak wave. 

“See you later Vomit Boy!” Yang yells over her shoulder as she guides Blake farther into the gym. _Thank God, she’s actually wearing a shirt this time_ , Blake thinks to herself taking in the sleeveless muscle shirt, hoping it will keep her from getting too distracted during the session. It would just be embarrassing if she became _that_ client. 

“We’re going to start with footwork today. If you can’t stay on your feet, you can’t hope to throw an effective punch.” Yang cheerily says as she stops at an open section of the floor.

“You’re going to center yourself on these two crossed lines in the flooring.” She points at the groves between the flooring that makes an x. “We will start with your stance and work from there.” Yang gets into the stance next to her to demonstrate. Blake matches her, knees bent, back straight, front toe and back heel on the line. 

“Good. Now we can move around a little.” She steps forward with her front foot, dragging her back foot the same distance forward to maintain her stance to demonstrate. Blake copies her. Yang takes two more steps forward and three back to reset herself. Blake mirrors the movement, conscious to keep her back from hunching and her feet from coming too far off the ground. 

“Perfect, let’s add the next step.” Yang grins with encouragement and takes three steps the left, moving her front foot first, followed by the back. Blake tried to follow the movement, but Yang stops her after her first step. 

Yang pushes on Blake’s shoulder, “If your legs are crossed, you’re gonna get tossed.” Yang tells her with a smirk. Blake has to adjust her feet to stop herself from falling over, she had stepped with her back foot first, crossed her legs without noticing.

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she fixes her stance. “I hope you have better jokes than that outside the gym.” 

With a chuckle, Yang resets herself to demonstrate again. “To be fair, it’s my dad’s saying not mine. I’m partial to puns in my free time.” 

Blake has to hold back a laugh, the idea of Yang coming up with stupid puns for some reason made her want to smile more than it should. 

“Ready to go again?” Yang brings her back to the moment, crouching and popping up a little to make a point of being in stance. 

Blake mimics the action to confirm she’s ready. They move in unison, taking three steps to the left. Yang starts moving to the right toward Blake and she picks up on the intention, moving to the right to maintain the distance and continue the drill. 

“Alright, we’ve got front, back, left, right. Now we’re going to add circular motion.” Pointing at the center of the X Blake was still centered on, she continues, “Now we’re going to pivot around the center of the X clockwise.” 

Yang demonstrates the action and Blake follows. “Alright now counterclockwise.” They do the same motions but, in the reverse, “Good. Now do all of the motions in a circuit and don’t stop unless you feel like your stance is wrong.” 

Blake goes through the movements, trying to focus on keeping the same distance between her front and back foot with each step. “Make sure you don’t hunch forward. You want your shoulders to stay mostly in line with your hips, like this.” Yang reaches out and gently rests one hand on her shoulder and the other at the center of her lower back, correcting her. Yang’s hands are warm through the fabric of her shirt, they linger for a moment after she’d adjusted Blake’s posture, soft and comforting. 

Yang clears her throat and steps back, seeming a little anxious as she shoves her hands into her pockets, “Alright, do that one more time for good measure, then if you feel good about it, we will try something a little more fast-paced.” 

Blake moves through the set quickly, trying not to let her mind wander to what Yang’s idea of fast pace was. 

“That was great, let’s test the skills in real-time. I’m going to face off with you, no punches just footwork. As I move take the steps you think will let you evade the advances. Got it?” Yang gets into her stance facing Blake, hands loose at her side. Blake gets into her stance and nods, curious to see how long she was going to be able to keep this up. 

Yang moves directly at her and Blake moves back almost in unison. A small smile forms on Yang’s lips, seeming proud that Blake had anticipated her movement. She advances again, taking a step forward to the right, Blake back’s away. They continue this, Yang starts to move faster and take more steps, Blake dodges the best she can, but she starts to lose the distance they had maintained at the beginning. 

As Yang closes the distance between them, Blake’s eyes wander – getting entirely too invested in the flex and give of Yang’s muscles. She only realizes how distracted she’d gotten when Yang stops moving, only inches away from her. Her face heats as her eyes settle on the dip at Yang’s throat, made more prominent by her labored breathing. 

“Blake.” Yang ducks her head to catch her gaze, a knowing smirk settling on her lips. 

“Yup. Yes. I was thinking… of the next step.” She sputters, scolding herself internally, so much for not getting distracted. She’d been caught and had the worst recovery possible. Her ears burn as she takes a step back and resets her stance. Schooling her features to try to get back to the drill, she lifts her hands and waves Yang forward, “I’m good, let’s keep going.”

Yang raises her chin, biting back a laugh. She starts the drill again, gracious enough not to call her out on the obvious gawking. Falling into a rhythm with the footwork they continue until Yang is satisfied with her movements. 

Yang straightens up out of her stance and takes a step back, “Your evasion is looking good. We’re going to switch gears for now though. That okay?”

“Of course, you’re the one calling the shots here.” Blake takes the moment to wipe the sweat from her face with the bottom edge of her shirt, not realizing how much of her stomach and sports bra she’s exposed. There is a pause and when she drops her shirt, she catches Yang’s eyes dart back up to hers, a grin crosses her face that reminds Blake of a child getting caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

“True, but I prefer to give people a choice when it comes to their training. Most people know themselves better than I do, I like to respect that.” She offers, absentmindedly gripping the back of her neck with one hand.

Words didn’t come so Blake just nods her head and follows Yang to a punching bag. It was hard not to let her mind linger on her trainer’s words, so different from what she’d grown used to hearing. It was jarring to realize how freely support could be given by people that weren’t him, people that didn’t know her well. Shaking her head to push the thoughts back she focuses on the heavy bag in front of her. 

“Before we start, we need to wrap our hands. It’s very easy to sprain your wrist or break your hand hitting a heavy bag without wraps. Beginners usually don’t have the form to avoid injuries.” She instructs as she pulls two sets of wraps from her pocket, handing a set to Blake. 

“Oh, I’m not supposed to break my hand? Well, this ruins my whole plan.” She jests, making a point to dramatically drop her arms to her sides.

Yang raises an eyebrow, “And what was the plan? Break your hand so you could make another bad joke about how you’ve peaked?” 

She scoffs, not expecting Yang to have such a fast response, “If I remember right, you laughed at that joke. Can’t say I’d laugh at the no doubt awful puns you make in your spare time.” 

“Maybe someday you’ll be lucky enough to spend some spare time with me to find out.” She teases and points at the wraps in Blake's hand. “As much as I’d love to be mocked by a pretty girl all day, I think you might need to learn how to wrap your hands before this session is over.” 

Blake was speechless, again. How did Yang go from a supportive coach to a smooth flirt at the drop of a dime? The smile on Yang’s face is smug as she sets up a wrap to demonstrate the intricate weaving of material that Blake would have to commit to memory. She raises an eyebrow and nods at the wrap in Blake’s hand.

After a few tries, Blake has successfully wrapped both her hands. Smirking and slapping the heavy bag Yang gives her an encouraging smile. “Last time it was all out to find out what you could do, now we’re going to work on technique. Just follow my lead like we did with footwork.” 

Setting up at an adjacent heavy bag Yang gets into her stance and Blake follows suit. Bending her knees, putting one foot forward and lifting her hands in front of her face and clenching her hands into fists. 

“First things first, make sure you are measured to the bag, you don’t want to be too close.” Yang demonstrates by extending her fist out slowly to show that her knuckles just touch the heavy bag, not too close and not too far from the bag. Blake mimics the motion and adjusts her feet to be the correct distance from the bag. 

“Alright, we’re going to learn a jab, a cross, and a right hook and do a few combos with the three. Ready?” 

“Ready.” 

Yang demonstrates all three of the punches and Blake copies the movement each time until it’s ingrained as habit. Yang moves from her bag to stand by Blake’s, calling the names of each punch for Blake to execute on the bag.

“Alright, time for combos. Jab is one, cross is two and right hook is three, good?” 

“Good.” She says with unwavering resolve. Her adrenaline has kicked in and it feels good to fight. Use her body on her own terms, it was hers after all, even if it hadn’t felt that way in a long time.

It takes a little time to get used to the assigned numbers to each of the punches, but after enough repetitions, she doesn’t have to think about which number goes with which punch. The rhythm is easy, measured, comfortable. Breathing deep to give power to the swings she’s taking she continues until Yang stops her. 

“This was a good start, make sure you do a little shadow boxing at home, so you build up your muscle memory. We’re going to cool down with some circuit exercises, but next time we will start sparing with the combos and footwork you learned today and add more as we go. If we’re ever moving too fast, just let me know, we can always slow it down.” Blake glances over to find soft eyes and a kind smile. Once she’s caught, Yang drops her eyes and starts to take off her hand wraps – the smile stays, and Blake can’t help but smile a little in return. 

\--

Saturday video game nights were sacred in the Xiao Long-Rose household and that didn’t end when they moved out, so like clockwork Ruby was at the door with pizza by seven. Clad in her pajamas she makes her way inside and plops down on the couch with a little too much gusto, a toothsome grin breaking out as she looked at her sister.

“Sooooooooooooo, did Blake come see you at the gym?” She bounces up and down on the cushions with her fingers laced together in her lap –pizza completely forgotten on the coffee table – she looks like she is about to burst. 

Raising an eyebrow in suspicion Yang says, “Yes. Is there a reason why you are practically levitating off my couch?”

Ruby scoffs, “Because I am excited, obviously! What did you think?” 

“Of Blake? She seems cool,” Yang drops herself down on the opposite end of the couch, confused when Ruby continues to stare at her, unwavering and committed. 

“What more do you want from me?” She didn’t know what Ruby was expecting, she’d never been particularly forthcoming about the people she was interested in. Hoping to distract Ruby from her line of questioning, she opens the pizza box and grabs a slice. 

“I at least thought you’d appreciate her sass, she’s worse than you are. Plus, Weiss said she’s your type.” Deflating slightly from her original glee, she leans forward and stacks two slices of pizza together and shoves them into her mouth, taking a massive bite. 

“I’m surprised the ice queen could unglue her eyes from Pyrrha long enough to look at another person.” She grumbles, sinking back into the cushions with her slice of pizza, annoyed at how right Weiss always seemed to be and how happy she was to say something about it.

Ruby swallows her enormous bite of pizza so she can respond, “Why are you grumpy? Blake’s awesome and she’d be good for you.”

Yang takes a long breath. As much as she knew Ruby’s heart was in the right place, it was difficult to accept that even her little sister was trying to play matchmaker. 

Exasperated, she tries to dismiss it, “Rubes, she’s a client. Even if she’s “my type”, I can’t date someone I’m training, it’s wrong.” She couldn’t help but think about how often she’d slipped while they were training, letting her hands and eyes linger, she just hoped that Blake wasn’t uncomfortable. Ruby lights up at the unintended admission, eyes wide with delight.

“Sooooo, is that you admitting you think she’s cute?” She says around another huge bite of pizza.

Yang drops her head against the back of the couch in defeat. So what if Blake was cute? Her hands were tied. Settling for turning the attention back on Ruby for the time being, she decides to take an easy shot, “I swear, some days it feels like I have a demon for a little sister.” 

Ruby narrows her eyes and gives her a sly smile, “Rude. You love me. You’re just mad because I am right and I’m about to kick your ass.” She tosses Yang a game controller and turns on the TV. 

Yang might have been a world champion boxer, but Ruby held all the household titles when it came to fighting games. There was no denying that Ruby would be winning every match tonight, but even as kids, Yang always let her when anyway – even if she didn’t let Ruby know that. 

After a few rounds, they swap out the controllers for more pizza. Ruby switches the TV to some YouTube channel, more for background noise than something to really pay attention to. 

Ruby pensively picks at her piece of pizza and looks over at Yang, “You know you deserve to be happy, right?”

“I am happy,” She says quickly. Ruby just keeps looking at her with sad little sister eyes.

With a more somber tone she continues, “I literally became a world champion less than a month ago, what is really about?” 

Ruby leans back into the couch cushions, “Weiss thinks your lonely…” 

Yang slowly blinks, mentally cursing Weiss for pulling Ruby into her needless worrying. She lets out a labored sigh, “Rubes, I know you care, but if Weiss has something to say to me, she can talk to me herself.” 

Ruby hops forward on the couch – straightening her back, eyes bright with concern, “I think you are too! You’ve spent your whole life taking care of me, and sometimes dad and even Qrow – and I am thankful, don’t get me wrong. But you deserve more…” She lets out a sigh and sinks back again, the fight draining from her frame. 

Yang didn’t know how to answer her. Nothing she said was untrue but seeing such a heavy burden sit on Ruby’s shoulders pulls at her heart, “Come here.” She says opening her arms, Ruby dives in and squeezes her so tight she has to suck more air into her lungs.

Yang gives her a squeeze, feeling a little guilty. “I love you. I’m happy. You don’t need to worry about me or my lack of a love life. It’s really okay, I promise.” It really was, sure having a relationship would be great, but she’d spent so many years focused on one goal – everything else was irrelevant, winning was what mattered. 

After a moment, Ruby nods and scoots back to her side of the couch, seeming to believe Yang’s words.

“I guess I can’t complain, if you got a girlfriend you might have a reason to stop letting me come over for video game/pizza night.” She chuckles, picking up the controller to switch the TV back to their game.

Glancing at the pizza box, Yang starts to grin, “Don’t worry Rubes, you’ll always have a pizza my heart.” Enunciating her pun to make it extremely clear she has to hold back her own laughter.

Ruby looks to the pizza box and back to Yang and deadpans, “Jokes like that are why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think, constructive criticism is welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

It has been a lot easier to get into the habit of practicing at home than Blake expects. Shadowboxing while she waits for her tea to brew has become part of her morning routine and it brings an unexpected smile to her face while she does it. Whether it’s because it’s fun or because it makes her think of Yang, she doesn’t know. She can’t bring herself to figure out which it is.

“If I didn’t know how much you really enjoy this, I’d tell you that you look absolutely ridiculous right now.” Ilia leans against the door frame. Laughing to herself at the sight of Blake in a full boxing stance in front of their stove, eyes focused on her tea kettle like it’s an opponent. 

Blake cracks a smile but doesn’t stop her routine, doesn’t look up, she is going back to the gym after work today and needs to make sure she’s ready. If Yang didn’t feel like she’d been practicing, they’d end up doing the same drills from the last session. As much as she likes routine, the gym was a place of constant change and excitement. Plus seeing the look on Yang’s face as she made progress was something she was really getting used to. 

She stops once the tea kettle starts to scream, taking it off the heat and making herself a cup, no cream, just a little bit of sugar, the same way she did every day. It’s mundane but having control over the small things was just as liberating as having it over the big things. Making a habit out of small victories, this was how she could create a new normal for herself.

Like a carefully orchestrated dance Blake steps out of the way with her mug just as Ilia makes her way to the stove to start her breakfast. She leans against the opposite countertop and watches as Ilia cracks eggs into a pan. 

“When do you leave for your conference?” 

Ilia doesn’t look up from her task, having the schedule already memorized, “I leave tomorrow morning and I’ll be gone until Monday night, think you can avoid burning the house down until I get back?” 

Blake scoffs, gripping her tea mug with more force, “That was one time!” 

“And that one time was memorable. You had to call the fire department Blake!” Blake crosses her arms and purses her lips, knowing she wouldn’t win this argument. 

“I’ll order take out all weekend if that puts your mind at ease.” She busies herself with her mug of tea, trying to think of the last time she went grocery shopping. 

Ilia turns around, having finished making breakfast, she hands a plate to Blake and deadpans, “You would have done that anyway.”

Blake rolls her eyes, she didn’t have a defense. Ilia wasn’t wrong. They pass a comically large pile of takeout menus on their way to the dining room table, an ever-growing collection.

“You going to lay on the couch and read all weekend while I’m gone?” Ilia was more than used to finding Blake on the couch all hours of the weekend, silently focused on whatever new read she had picked up. Why should she expect anything different?

“As tempting as that idea is, no. I added an extra session at the gym on Saturday.” It had been a few weeks since she’d started training, she’d even sparred in the ring a few times, it was as good a time as any to increase the frequency of her sessions. Plus, she knew too much downtime alone left room for thoughts that she’d already run from. 

Dropping her fork onto her empty plate Ilia slumps her head into the palm of her hand, “So unfair. I’m going to be stuck in boring work seminars while you pretend not to stare at an Adonis.” The pout on her face was truly amusing, she knew Ilia was imagining a no doubt self-indulgent version of Yang.

Blake lets her live in her delusion a little longer while she finishes her own breakfast, “Careful, you might get drool on your sleeve if you keep this up.” Ilia snaps out of her revelry and glances around the apartment, seeming to check the clock to see how much time had passed. When she looks back at Blake her eyes are somber, reflecting an understanding only years of friendship can bring. 

“Make sure you use that fancy alarm system while I am gone, too.” 

“You know I already use it when you’re here, but yeah – I will.” She sinks back in her chair, trying not to let her mind wander too far. Before it could, Ilia pulls her out of it – like she had countless times since they’d moved in together – with unabashed teasing. 

“And if you have any guests, just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Ilia winks as she pushes away from the table. Going to finish getting ready for work and leaving Blake to mull over who she’d even possibly bring home.

She hadn’t made any friends at work, didn’t go out much, she was still new to book club and hadn’t gotten close to anyone yet. So that left Yang, not that they were close either, she couldn’t think of any scenario that would lead to her trainer ending up at the apartment. Well, she could think of a few, but that would be too close to letting it feel real. 

\--

“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything in the last few weeks.” 

“Whose fault is it if I haven’t?” 

“Alright smartass, gloves up.” 

Blake gets into her stance to square up with Yang, touching their gloved knuckles together to signal the fight has begun. They dance around each other at first, sending out a few measuring jabs and watching each other plan their attacks. Blake lunges forward first, trying to land shots left and right. Yang easily avoids her advances, ducking and blocking each shot. It doesn’t deter Blake in the slightest, something about being inside the ropes builds a fire in her chest, burning bright with a fury she’d never had when she’d needed it. 

Yang stays on the defensive. She keeps her head guarded, chin down and elbows tight at her sides, a small smirk resting on her lips. Blake can tell she’s holding back, why shouldn’t she – they were leagues apart in skill. If Yang gives her a real fight, she’d be on the ground in no time. Trying to avoid the mental image of being on her back, Yang above her – she launches forward with even more ferocity. This turns out to be a mistake. 

Yang side steps her advance and lands a quick set of right hooks to her ribs, leaving her gasping for air. Locking her arms around Blake’s and trapping her for the moment, Yang instructs, “Catch your breath. Make sure you pick your moments. If all you do is swing – you leave yourself open for an easy counter.” 

Blake nods as she pulls air back into her lungs. Her heartbeat throbs in her temples. Being in the ring was a lot more exhausting than the drills they had been running and being within inches of Yang’s face wasn’t helping. 

Once her breathing evens out a little Yang unlocks their arms. She takes a few steps back and settles into her stance, gloved hands steady in front of her. _Pick your moments._ Blake was used to playing mental chess to avoid blows, but this was the first time she’d ever had the agency to swing. It was difficult not to let his voice creep into her mind, spiking her blood with the urge to finally fight back. 

This time it’s Yang that goes on the offensive. She takes quick measured steps forward and lets loose a combination of punches, all caught by Blake’s arms and gloves. Blake shuffles backward, looking for an opening and not seeing one. She tries to keep her gloves up, wanting to make sure she doesn’t give Yang an opening either. She doesn’t notice when her hands start to sag lower, the weight of the gloves still new enough to be an unconscious burden. 

Yang throws a few more jabs, landing one swift strike to Blake’s headgear. It knocks her off balance, making her take a few shuffling steps to stop herself from falling. When she recovers Yang is wearing that same cocksure smirk as before and it makes Blake grit her teeth around her mouthguard. 

“Keep your knees bent and stance wide otherwise punches like that will knock you off balance.” 

It is hard to decide what emotion Yang’s smirk evokes in her. It is probably more than one if she is going to be honest with herself, but now isn’t the time. All she knows is she has to rise to the challenge; she has something to prove to herself and this is the first step. 

Steeling herself for another advance – checking her stance – she moves forward. This time attempting to tamp the scarlet tinted aggression that sat at the forefront of her mind, this isn’t for him. It’s for herself, it has to be.

She takes measured swings, connecting with Yang’s gloves and arms – all blocked. She sidesteps and throws a few jabs, still not breaking through Yang’s defenses. Her heart pounds in her chest, the air in her lungs feels thicker – harder to breathe. The weight of her gloves makes her arms droop unintentionally. Soon she’ll lose the energy to continue and she knows that Yang is banking on it, that that will be when she takes her moment. 

Blake doesn’t know if she wants to impress Yang or if she just wants to win for herself, it might be both. She paces her advance, moving a little slower but keeping her hands up to guard – seeing if Yang would take the bait. She does.

Yang starts to fire punches at her, rapid and sharp. Blake retreats but Yang matches her steps – keeping her in range for her next combination. If Blake had actually been as tired as she let herself seem, this would be the end. Her guard would drop. Yang would land the hits she needs to; it would be over. But Blake still has a little fight left, not much but she plans to use it. 

As Yang continues her drive forward, Blake blocks and ducks under punches – looking for an opening. After another barrage, she sees it and takes her chance. As she swings, she remembers something important, Yang is a world champion and she is only a month into training. 

Yang blocks her punch and counters so fast that she can’t compensate. Yang’s glove connects just below her sternum, knocking the air out of her lungs so fast her knees buckle, and she almost hits the mat. The only thing that stops her is Yang’s arms shooting out to catch her. 

Pulling Blake back up to her feet and taking out her mouthguard, her brow knits together with concern, “I’m so sorry, that was probably way too hard of a hit. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” She says with a huff, taking another breath and removing her own mouthguard before glaring up at her, “You underestimated me.” 

They are still so close that Yang has to tip her head down a little to make eye contact, a smirk creeps onto her face, eyes flashing, “And you tried to trick me, so I’d say we’re even.” 

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t hold back,” Blake doesn’t notice that she takes a slight step forward with the challenge. Yang doesn’t move an inch, just narrows her eyes – smirking the same way she had been for what seemed like the whole day. 

“As fun as that might be, I don’t know if you could handle all of me.” 

Blake just stares, muscles rigid, she can’t break first. She thanks the redness that was already on her cheeks from the workout, otherwise she’d be given away. _Everything_ is burning. It takes a moment, but realization crosses Yang’s face all at once, more than one expression playing across her face before she lands on stifled embarrassment.

Yang steps away and starts to take off her gloves and headgear, keeping her eyes locked on the floor. After a nervous cough, she looks back up with a small grin and she finally says, “We are going to do a few floor drills, so you can take off the sparring gear for today.” 

Letting the moment pass with a smirk on her face, Blake takes off her gear and starts to leave the ring. She makes the mistake of looking back as she ducks between the ropes, holding her gear to her chest. Yang had dropped her sparring helmet and gloves on the floor in favor of lifting the hem of her tank top to whip sweat from her face, exposing defined muscles that flex as she bends forward to press the fabric to her forehead. 

Blake’s mouth goes dry. She is not prepared for this in the slightest. She’d seen Yang’s abs before, but she had never flexed them like this, it was criminal. Blake had always considered herself a well-coordinated individual, but with her legs turned liquid at the sight in front of her – she hadn’t noticed her foot not quite clearing the rope she was stepping through and with her hands full of sparring gear there was no hope of recovery. 

A sickening thud rings out as her skull bounces off the hardwood floor. 

Letting out a small grown she rolls onto her back, wincing at the pain radiating through her head. She sees Yang vault herself through the ropes and crouches down next to her, hands pensively hovering over her. 

“Hey. Don’t move just yet, alright?” Yang looks up briefly and waves someone over, returning to looking her over for injuries almost immediately.

“Did you land on your head or your shoulder?” 

Blake winces when she tries to lift her head off the floor, gingerly resting it back down, “Head.” 

With a small chuckle, she says, “Gods Blake. When I said floor drills, I didn’t mean for you to actually drill your head into the floor.”

“If there weren’t three of you right now, I might try to punch you.” As she says it, she knows it isn’t true, the look of unfettered concern in Yang’s eyes shot through her – a softness she still wasn’t quite used to.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re feisty and it’s great, but right now we need to make sure you didn’t crack your head open so please stay still,” Yang rests her palm on the crown of Blake’s head to stop her from moving anymore, giving her a small smile. “It is a good sign that you can talk though.” 

Tai crouches at her other side, dropping an orange bag next to him – rushing to assess the situation. She was thankful for Yang’s hand keeping her steady, had it not been there the thump of the bag hitting the floor so close to her might have made her jump. 

He shines a small flashlight in her eyes, it happens so fast she doesn’t have time to squint at the sudden brightness. Setting down the light he gingerly lifts her head, continuing his examination, “Good news is you’re not bleeding, it doesn’t look like you landed hard enough to break anything. Bad news is your pupils are dilated, so you might have a concussion.”

“Well she said she could see three of me a second ago, so I think it’s a little more than ‘might.’” 

Tai looks up at his daughter and back down to Blake, he seems a little unsettled with the new information, maintaining an even tone, he asks, “Blake, do you know where you are? What day it is? Can you tell me how you fell?” 

Her face flares with heat, there was no way to tell them what caused the distraction without completely melting into the floor, “I’m in the Dueling Dragons boxing gym, it’s Saturday and I was getting out of the ring when my foot caught on one of the ropes, I couldn’t catch myself with my gear in my hands.” 

Tai looks between her and the ropes and gives her a nod, “Looks like you aren’t too far gone. Wanna give standing a try?” 

She starts to move, slowly. By the time she’s in a sitting position, she can tell just how difficult this is going to be. Her head swam, it felt heavier than it should. Yang must have been able to tell because before she could try to stand unassisted, Yang was gripping her hand – giving Blake something to push against to gain the leverage she needs to stand. 

As soon as she’s upright, everything starts to slant. She would have been back on the ground in an instant if Yang hadn’t been there, going from gripping her hand to wrapping a steady arm around her waist, taking Blake’s full weight against her chest like it’s nothing. 

“Yeah, that’s a ‘definitely’ on the concussion. Dad, can you get her a water bottle?” 

Tai didn’t move for a moment. Looking between the two girls, his eyebrows knit together as his sight settles on Yang. Blake can’t see her face, but the nonverbal cue she gives him must have been enough to appease whatever he had been thinking. He turns and with a brisk stride makes his way toward the front desk. 

Blake wants to move away, prove she’s okay – stand on her own. But there’s something about being held by Yang that is so comforting and safe that it takes longer than she’d like to admit to shift out of her embrace. 

Yang loosens her grip the moment Blake starts to move, keeping her arms out in case the dizziness makes her stumble again. 

“Is there someone we can call to come get you?”

“Shit, my roommate is out of town this weekend. It’s fine, I can just take an Uber.” As she says it, she knows it’s a terrible idea. She hadn’t been on a boat in a long time, but it felt like she was on rough water, the floor pitching and tilting slightly under her feet. If this got any worse, she wouldn’t make it to her front door by herself.

She expects Yang to laugh or to make a bad joke, but she doesn’t. Yang stands there, arms out, looking like she’s ready to catch the world. Looking at Blake with such caring disapproval it makes something shift. 

“With how hard you hit your head; you really shouldn’t be alone – at least not for the next few hours. Let me take you home.” She says the last sentence so softly; it could break in the air between them. Yang just wants to make sure she’s safe and Blake does not know what to do with the warmth that grows in her chest. She could say no, and it would be accepted, but she really doesn’t want to.

\--

“Tell your mother I won’t be making it home in time for dinner tonight.” 

“I will, but I think she might already know.”

“Get home safe, sweetheart.” 

Visiting Ghira at work on her way home from school became routine after he retired from boxing. He worked long hours to serve their community, which left little time for much else. She’d stay as long as she could most days, often sharing a comfortable silence while she did homework and he took care of whatever tasks needed attention that day. Even without speaking, there was such an air of love and support between them, it was no less quality time. 

Today was no different than most days. She stays as late as she can, which leaves her to walk home as the sun is setting. Her route is well worn and familiar. The streets are close to empty and the thrum of the city is dulled to a hum as the sky fades. 

She hears scuffling and muffled sounds of distress coming from somewhere ahead of her. Gripping the strap of her backpack she picks up her pace, ready to either fight or run if she needs to. As she gets closer to the noises, she figures out they are coming from just inside the alleyway near the end of the block. She passes the edge of the building just in time to see a boy with scarlet hair get hit so hard in the face he spits blood across one of the walls, stumbling back against it with all of his weight. She takes in the rest of the scene quickly. There were three other boys in the alley, only one seemed to be fighting the scarlet haired boy, the others acting as spectators. 

“Hey! Leave him alone!” 

She rushes into the alleyway brandishing her backpack like a weapon. Her target ducks the bag with ease, chuckling as he backs away from his new assailant, moving closer to his friends behind him. She positions herself between the boy who had been hit and the other three, only then did she notice how much larger and older they were.

She freezes in place when she hears a chuckle from behind her. 

The scarlet haired boy pushes himself off the wall. Now that he is standing upright, she notices how much he towers over her. “Alright boys, we are done for the night. We will pick this up tomorrow.” 

The group of three nod at him and leave, completely calm for having just been in what seemed to be a heated fight. As they walk past her to leave, she notices they all have similar bruises and cuts on their faces, one boy walks away with a limp. 

She turns back to the scarlet haired boy, bewildered, “Wait. What...?”

He wipes blood from the corner of his mouth, “We were just having a little fun, nothing serious.” 

“But you’re bleeding.” For having been around a fighter most of her life she had never heard it described as fun, celebrating violence was never a part of it, but the boy in front of her was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“And so are they. I’d say won.” Slowly he appraises her. A predator sizing up its prey, but she didn’t know that yet, “How old are you?”

“I’m thirteen, why?” 

“Just curious... I don’t see a lot of thirteen-year-old girls running headfirst into fights with sixteen-year-old boys, let alone three of them. It would be a little impressive if it wasn’t so reckless.” 

She doesn’t know if it’s supposed to be a compliment or a scolding, but he says it with a nonchalance that could be charming to some. 

The blush that creeps up her face feels very out of place, “Well I thought you were in danger.” 

“Hold on. Aren’t you Ghira Belladonna’s daughter?” 

“My name is Blake and yes I am.” As much as she loves her dad, she likes to be considered for her own merits and not his. She looks him up and down, between his height and the distance he’d closed between them she had to crane her head back to look him in the eye. “What’s your name?” 

“Adam Taurus.” For the first time, he looks around the alleyway and out to the street. The sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the amber glow of streetlights to wash over them. “Isn’t it a little late to be walking around alone, Blake?” 

“I wasn’t walking around. I was walking home. It’s not that far.” 

“Let me walk you home. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows.” He says with a knowing smirk on his lips, like he already knows what hides in the darkness. 

It’s abrupt and unnecessary, but it doesn’t feel like there’s any choice in the request. He’s being polite, she can’t say no. She says yes and shoves the uneasy feeling down into her gut. She forfeits more than just the right to walk her home in that alleyway. She just doesn’t know it yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to [@omnical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_mustachio/pseuds/omnical) for letting me talk at him until I figure things out and to my beta [@thecarlonethatalsowrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlonethatalsowrites), they are both amazing and have been super helpful over the last month, I really can't thank them enough. 
> 
> A few housekeeping things:  
> I am bumping this up to an M rating, we will be getting to some more mature content in the next few chapters and I don't want anyone to be surprised. I will add warnings to the beginnings of the chapters so people know what they are getting into. 
> 
> I will be trying to keep a monthly update schedule with this fic, but I do not know what the next few months are going to be like, so if I don't hit my deadlines I apologize.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone just a quick heads up before we get into this chapter. 
> 
> **TW: description of a panic attack/dissociative state**

_Oh, Ilia is going to have a field day over this when she gets back._

Blake hesitates, holding her keys a little tighter, “You really don’t have to do this.” The thick fog in her mind keeping her from easily getting the key into the lock of her front door. 

Yang stands nonchalantly behind her, she shrugs, a small smile touching her lips, “While you’re at my gym, you’re my responsibility. You got injured during a session and I am happy to help.” She grabs the back of her neck and cocks her head to the side with a more anxious smile. “Plus, you said your roommate is out of town and it sucks to sit and do nothing by yourself, not a lot of people can do it.” 

Blake smirks as she finally pushes the door open, “Are you saying you don’t trust me?” The look on Yang’s face is priceless like she knew it would be. It hasn’t happened often, but getting Yang off balance is an unfamiliar kind of satisfying. 

“N-No” Yang flushes, but recovers quickly, “I’m just saying it’s really easy to want to pick up a book or turn on a TV. Most people can’t sit and do nothing for hours at a time.” 

“I think you are overestimating that fall; it really wasn’t that bad.” Blake dismisses as she closes the door behind them, leaning into it a little. The room suddenly shifts and tilts, what was a fog in her mind is now a weight resting on a single side, pulling her away from equilibrium. The random bout of vertigo seemed to make a point to fight against her words at the perfect time. She starts to slide down the door but Yang doesn’t hesitate to grab her shoulders to keep her standing. 

“Woah, okay. Let’s get you off your feet, then we can talk about how not bad it was.” Yang’s grip is warm and reassuring, just like the look in her eyes. Moving her hands to her elbows, Yang starts to lead her over to the couch.

“Hold on.” She reluctantly pulls out of Yang’s embrace. Trying to push the fog out of her head long enough to focus on the numbers on the keypad on the alarm panel. Slowly typing in the code and waiting for it to flash green before turning back to Yang. 

If she is curious she keeps it to herself, for now at least. Her face is neutral. “Think you’re okay to make it to the couch on your own? Or do you want an assist?” 

“I think I’ll make it, really it’s not that bad.” It takes more focus than she expects, but she makes her way to the couch with only the slightest wobble in her step. 

Yang crosses her arms, still standing in front of the couch, it would be intimidating if her voice wasn’t so gentle, “Blake I heard your head bounce off the ground, there’s no way that doesn’t hurt.” 

“You get beat up for a living, I am sure you’ve been through worse.” Deflecting and distance are what she’s used to. It’s easy to fall on old habits, especially when they were all that kept her safe with him, even if she doesn’t need them anymore. _Worse…_

“First of all, I don’t get beat up. I beat people up. World Champion, remember?” She flexes a bicep with a cocky smile, but sobers quickly, letting her ego melt into something more genuine. “That’s not the point though. Pain is pain, Blake. It’s not about if it’s worse than someone else’s. You have a right to feel it.”

Yang’s eyes are molten and piercing, but her expression is one of concern. The same one she’d been sporting the whole drive to the apartment. Blake sinks deeper into the couch, torn between finding comfort in Yang’s words and fighting back the unmistakable voice in her head. 

_You hurt me so much worse, my love. Now, what are we going to do about it?_

It hits hard and fast, just like he did, and it is visceral. Even knowing she is in her own apartment hundreds of miles away. In an instant, She’s back in their dingy one-bedroom apartment. The smell of musty cigarettes and sweat cloying at her nose like it has a right to be there. Her wrist aches, the ghost of his grip constricting around it like it had so many times before. A twisted kind of muscle memory. If she closes her eyes, she knows she’ll be met with an unrelenting icy blue stare. 

She doesn’t realize she’s shaking until Yang rests a steady hand on her shoulder, snapping her back to the present, “Hey, if your head hurts worse than it did before we got here, we should really take you to the hospital.” 

With Yang so close she uses all her strength to keep her words steady and warm, “No. I’m fine.” Yang opens her mouth to protest, worry clear in her eyes, but Blake cuts her off before she can, “Okay. Not fine, but it isn’t worse.”

Yang’s eyes linger, running the lines of her face, checking for something. Blake isn’t sure what she’s looking for or if she finds it. Giving her shoulder an affirming squeeze she lets go. The small amount of warmth her hand leaves behind is leached away by the numbness that has taken hold of her, “Alright, please tell me if it does get worse. It could be really serious, Blake.” 

“I will. I promise.” Blake breathes the words out and hopes it doesn’t sound like broken glass. 

The corner of Yang’s mouth twitches at the word promise. She runs her fingers through her hair anxiously, clearly not convinced, but still unwilling to pry.

“Would it be okay if I grab us some water?” Her voice is soft like she knows anything more will shatter Blake completely. 

“Of course. Cups are in the cabinet to the left of the fridge.” Her own voice sounds wrong in her ears, distant and thready.

“Ice?” 

“Sure.”

Yang’s footsteps fade and the foggy ache in her head blooms, expands, murky pressure pushing at the inside of her skull with no place to go. The silence in the room is loud, an assault on her senses. The only real sound is the erratic thump of her heart pushing the blood farther into her ears. _It’s okay._

Every breath she takes is a fight against the knot that has made a home in her lungs, a singular mass at the center of her chest. She curls herself around it, gripping hard at her biceps. Wrapping tense fingers around muscle, any pressure to chase the numbness away. _Breathe. Focus._

She can hear Yang opening and closing the cabinet and the clank of ice being dropped into a glass. She takes a deep breath and focuses on the sounds to ground herself, counting the clinks as the cubes ricochet off of the glass. Willing her body to still, unwinding the tightness in her chest and pushing her shoulders back to stretch out the tension. _Just like last time._

She isn’t sure if it was the fall that knocked the memory loose, or if it was Yang’s words that took her back, or if it was just cruel circumstance. All she knows is that she won’t be able to explain it away if it happens again. 

Tapping the seconds away against the arm of the couch, slow, methodic. She closes her eyes and hears Yang turn on the faucet, breathing deep until the water stops. Pacing the expulsion of air to steady the erratic beating of her heart. She opens her eyes when Yang’s footsteps patter against the tile, taking in an even breath and begrudgingly thanking experience for being such a good teacher. 

As she reaches the doorway back into the living room Yang does a double-take at the countertop as she walks past it, “Blake, is this mountain of take-out menus for every restaurant in a fifteen-mile radius, or just your favorites?”

“Oh come on, there aren’t that many.” She has to at least pretend to be offended, but she can’t fight the smile that starts to grow. The room starts to feel lighter, fuller with Yang in it.

“If I stack these up it would reach the bottom of your cabinets. I bet we could play Jenga with ‘em!” The excitement at the idea is alive on Yang’s face, such a beautiful distraction. 

Blake rolls her eyes to give herself a reason not to stare, “Or we can use them for their intended purpose. You know, like picking one and ordering food.” 

Yang waltzes over, holding out one of the glasses for Blake to take, “We could, but I am sure you have something here we could whip up real fast. Cooking is one of the few activities you can do while concussed.” 

She has to suppress a groan. She’d already embarrassed herself enough today. 

She sighs, coming clean is the only way to get through this, “I haven’t been grocery shopping in awhile. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to cooking either. Not sure I’d be any better at it with a head injury.” 

Yang raises an eyebrow, her smile breathes misplaced optimism, “How bad could you be? Everyone can cook something.” 

“Let’s just say the firemen and women that had to come were very understanding.” She can’t hold back the chuckle, taking a sip of her water to try and quell the simmer on her cheeks. 

“Noooo.” Yang narrows her eyes with disbelief. 

Blake nods, waits for Yang to start drinking her water before saying, “I also might have promised to get take out all weekend while Ilia is out of town. So she wouldn’t have to worry about me burning the whole apartment down.”

Yang clamps a hand over her lips; her eyebrows pinch together with effort, the snort she tries to hold back betrays her as she tries not to spit out the water. Blake laughs so hard tears start to prick the edges of her eyes. Her head hurts with the strain, but it’s worth it. She only stops once she realizes Yang has fully recovered and is looking at her with the strangest mix of contempt and fondness. 

“You might pay for that someday.” She teases, “For now I’ll have to add cooking lessons to your training package. Let’s go see what you’ve got.” She turns and strides into the kitchen, not even looking back to see if Blake has gotten up to follow. 

She will follow her, eventually. For now, Blake sits and thinks about the fondness of Yang’s smile and tries to remember the last time she laughed this hard. 

\--

When Blake makes it into the kitchen, dragging a dining room chair behind her, she sees that Yang has frozen in the middle of the room. She’s looking at her phone with concentration as she furiously taps at the screen. 

“Everything okay?” 

It takes a moment for Yang to look up, smiling at Blake when their eyes meet, “Yeah, just had to text Ruby real quick.” 

She shoves her phone back into the pocket of her shorts and starts rifling through the cabinets. Blake finds an out of the way place for her chair. If the vertigo comes back, she’ll need it. She leans on the back of the chair to watch Yang pile ingredients on the counter, the spark of a plan in her eye as she stacks tomato cans next to the stove. 

Yang claps her hands together, a picture of cheerful confidence, “Okay, you’re going to be in charge of pasta. I am going to make a sauce.”

“Your faith in me is admirable, albeit very misplaced.” A hint of a smile touches her lips through the cynicism. 

“Oh, come on if I could teach Ruby how to boil noodles when she was eight, I think you can learn how as a grown adult.” Yang hands her a pot off the stove, turning to prep her own workstation. 

Her fingers flex around the pot, remembering her last attempt at cooking with a chuckle, “Let’s hope for both our sakes you prove my track record wrong.” 

“Tell you what, if we completely fail at this - take out is on me and you get to pick, deal?”

“Deal.” 

Blake fills the pot halfway with water as Yang starts to smash and peel cloves of garlic. After putting the pot of water on a burner, she sits and waits for it to come to a boil. There is nothing else for her to do, making pasta isn’t a large task, so she watches Yang work instead. 

Blake gets caught up in the rhythmic repetition of the knife, Yang moves with precision that only comes from practice. Before she can wonder if it’s too intrusive she finds herself asking, “Who taught you how to cook?” 

Yang stays quiet for a moment while she continues to mince the garlic, eventually, she smiles fondly, keeping her eyes on the cutting board. 

“Our mom, Summer. I helped her make dinner pretty often when we were little. She made it fun.” 

The admission is comfortable, so she let herself be curious, “Did Ruby help too?” Ruby got easily distracted at book club often enough, imagining her being kept on task as a child is next to impossible. 

Yang laughs, “Oh no not at all. She was still too young.”

She scraps the garlic off the cutting board into a small bowl with the back of the knife, “Looks like the water is ready. Go ahead and add a little salt before you drop in the noodles.” 

She dumps the box into the pot and waits. Not wanting to leave it unattended, she leans against the counter. Moving the stirring spoon idly between her hands while she watches the pasta sink into the water. Yang slices an onion, wiggling her nose back and forth to fight the sting. 

“So how did she make it fun?” 

“It’s been so long I can’t remember all the details, but she just had a way about her.” _Had._ Blake doesn’t miss the small detail of tense. Just like she doesn’t miss the slight tightening of Yang’s shoulders as she continues to work. “She knew how to make even the little things special, y’know?” 

Blake lets the silence grow, they still barely know each other and she doesn’t want to push. It’s a fine line to walk when all she wants is to know more. Yang adds oil to a pan and puts it on low heat, moving back to the cutting board. Her face lights up suddenly, still more reserved than she ever was at the gym. A quiet kind of remembrance touches her eyes. 

“There was this one time that Ruby insisted on helping. She had to sit on the counter to do anything because she was so small.” Yang’s smile spreads and the joy is contagious. 

“We were making soup, so there were a bunch of chopped veggies. Ruby’s job was to put them all in a bowl for mom so she could add them to the pot all at once.” Yang absentmindedly makes small gestures with the knife to enunciate her story, “We turned away for like a second to check on the meat that was cooking and the next thing I knew I was getting pelted with chunks of carrot,” Yang giggles and Blake joins her. This time she can’t tell if the dizziness is from the pain in her head or the flutter in her chest. 

The onion and garlic start to sizzle when Yang drops them into the pan. The smell fills the room, pungent, stinging slightly as she breathes it in. 

Yang stands at the ready with a spatula, leaning against the counter to mirror Blake, “It devolved into a full out food fight, mom and I hid behind a table and everything. Even when she was little, Ruby was a force of nature. Mom had to sneak around the island to snatch her off the counter to make it stop.” By the end of the story, Yang’s smile is so unbridled that it crinkles the corners of her eyes. 

Caught up in the energy of the story and Yang’s smile she forgets that she’s walking a wire, “Did she get to help much after that happened?” 

Yang takes in a somber breath, the joy draining from her features slowly, “Um. No. She had a bit of a break before getting back in the kitchen.” One corner of her mouth lifts in a feeble half-smile. 

Yang’s eyes water and Blake suspects that it isn’t just the onion getting to her. She focuses on the noodles to try and offer Yang some privacy to recover in the small space between them. Yang clears her throat and adds the canned tomatoes and spices to the pan.

Being distracted by Yang’s story did not bode well for the pasta. Which has become a congealed clump of starch in the middle of the pot, “Oh no, are they supposed to look like this?” 

“Stir them a little, they might unstick. It’s okay if we have clumpy pasta, hopefully the sauce can save it. You really weren’t underselling your skills,” Her voice isn’t back to her usual timbre, but it’s close. Yang lets out a half-hearted chuckle, focusing on stirring the contents of her pan, “Have you always lived on take out?” 

There’s only so much that’s worth saying out loud. Adam never trusted her to cook, not that he was ever worth cooking for in the first place. Take out became the norm. Those years were seeped in quick fixes, never lasting solutions.

“Not always. My mom would cook all the time. I just wasn’t home very often when she did...” 

“Out causing trouble?” 

She rolls her eyes. It’s clear Yang needs a distraction, so faking normalcy is a benefit for them both. Sticking to the lighter topics would be the safest, not that they hurt any less, “Later on, maybe. When I was younger, I spent a lot of my afternoons doing homework in my dad’s office.” 

“That’s really sweet,” Yang’s eyes flick up from the pan, a small smile finding its way back to her lips. 

“Yeah. We didn’t always talk much, but just being there was enough,” She tries not to let her voice waver with the weight of memory resting on her throat. Everything was so much simpler back then, “He had a way about him, too.” 

Yang catches the call back to her own words. She lets the food go unattended. Some things are just more important. She looks at Blake with understanding, an unspoken appreciation of loss, “We used to watch his post-fight interviews when I was little. He seems like a really great guy.” 

“He is,” She isn’t used to someone hearing the words she doesn’t say, so she decides to let some spill out, “Even when he was busy, he would make time for me. He had a tendency to put me up on his shoulder whenever we were out running errands. He’d say he wanted to feel the weight of his world on his shoulders, that it kept his feet on the ground.” 

“Damn, Blake.” It’s almost a whisper, but they are too close together for Blake not to hear it.

Thinking back, she can’t remember watching any of her dad’s interviews, “Wait, you said we. Did your parents let you and Ruby watch fights at that age? Or did you sneak?”

“Ruby was never into that kind of stuff. My mom was a big fan of his though, so she let me watch with her. She was a boxer before she had Ruby, nothing professional, but still - she loved watching a good fight.” Yang’s genuine smile from before is back. Eyes no longer clouded with her past, instead they shine at the recollection. 

She chuckles at the thought of a tiny Yang and her no doubt animated reactions, “Why doesn’t that surprise me?” 

“Hmm, no idea. I’ve never been in a fight in my life.” Yang maintains a measured expression for all of two seconds. The shit-eating grin that forms on her face is truly endearing, easy to get caught up in. 

“Right, and I didn’t completely embarrass myself today.”

“Oh come on it wasn’t that bad.” 

“Really?” 

“Okay, it was kind of bad.” They laugh and it’s the lightest Blake has felt in weeks. “But don’t worry, nothing will ever be worse than the Vomit Boy incident, Jaune is infamous at this point.” 

The embarrassment doesn’t hold a candle to Yang’s warmth, given so freely. There’s no expectation, just comfort, peace. It feels effortless and Blake wonders just how Yang came to be such a bright and gentle soul. Loss can close your heart, fill it with ice, but Yang’s is unrestrained, boundless. It makes her want to break out of her own cage.

“How’s your head?” 

“It’s fin-” Yang gives her a look and she knows she’s already lost, “It still hurts, but it’s not as bad as it was.” 

Yang softens, she steps closer to check the dilation of her eyes. She rests a hand on Blake’s shoulder, “Dizzy?” 

She’d spent a good part of the afternoon hiding new truths by telling old ones, one more couldn't hurt, “It comes and goes.” 

The air in the room feels thin, brittle, so Blake sucks in a breath and holds it. The waver in her knees has nothing to do with falling out of the ring. It has everything to do with the look in Yang’s lilac eyes and the soft comfort of a steady hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience. I am a few days late, but a certain tv show had it's last season drop this weekend and it created a bit of a delay. :)
> 
> A huge thank you to [Omnical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/general_mustachio/pseuds/omnical) for the vibe checks and editing help. 
> 
> ALSO. The wonderful [EruGhostCat](https://erughostcat.tumblr.com/) made some art based on the first chapter of this fic and I am still losing my mind over it. Go check it out [HERE](https://erughostcat.tumblr.com/post/617249642733764608/this-ones-based-off-from-scar-tissue-by)


	5. Chapter 5

_Let me take you home._ As the words cross her lips she has no idea why she says them. She’s always held the front line when it comes to caretaking, at least where family is concerned. This is different. It’s not out of a sense of duty that she says it, but something else. It’s undefined, but maybe that’s how it should stay, for now. 

She has to drive Blake’s car, she realizes. Blake smirks when she sees Yang’s motorcycle. 

“My current lack of balance won't be a problem, right?” The sarcasm in Blake’s voice is heavier than her body weight pressed against Yang’s side. There is no way Blake could stay upright on the back of a bike right now. 

_Gods, even with a head injury she’s still feisty._ Yang tries not to swallow her own tongue when Blake hands her the keys.

Sinking into the well-worn driver’s seat, she adjusts the lever underneath to push away from the steering wheel. Before she can adjust the rearview mirror, Blake reaches up and pulls a small chain off of it, making the tarnished gold ring hanging from the chain bob and sway before she fastens it around her neck. 

Conversation is light, noncommittal, the whole drive to Blake’s apartment. There’s just one thing that’s out of place. Before they get out of the parking lot Blake shifts in her seat, wrapping herself up to take up as little space as possible. It doesn’t match the tone of her voice, the even-keel of their discussion. It seems unconscious, involuntary, and it’s something she’s never seen from Blake at the gym. 

Yang focuses on the road as she wonders what created the habit, trying not to let the concern reflect in her eyes. 

\--

Telling Ruby exactly why she has to cancel pizza/video game night is a mistake. The wall of wink emojis that pops up almost as soon as she sends the text makes her freeze in place, stranded in the middle of the kitchen. She tries to ignore the heat rising on the back of her neck as she types out a hasty reply. _It’s not like that. See if I ever buy you pizza again, twerp._

The string of crying emojis in response is predictable, but she doesn’t take the time to reply. Blake is standing in the doorway and that is plenty enough reason to shove her phone back into her pocket. The midafternoon sun dances across Blake’s back from the living room window and the kitchen feels brighter all of a sudden. When their eyes meet she can’t help the smile that grows. 

\--

Sitting across a small dining room table eating unevenly cooked pasta was not part of the plan, not that she’d had a plan in the first place. She hadn’t given any of it much thought past wanting to make sure Blake was okay, even once they made into the apartment. But watching Blake hide an abashed smile behind her hand as she prods the food on her plate with her fork is making her chest expand in a way that is almost uncomfortable, and entirely unfamiliar. 

“So am I buying us dinner or is this passable?” She’s already taken a few bites. It isn’t the best thing she’s ever made, but the sauce turned out fine. The pasta not so much. Blake finally stops poking at it and takes a hesitant bite. She nods, giving Yang a small smile. She knows she’s won. 

“It is, even with my pitiful attempt at pasta. I don’t know how you managed to make this taste so good with how little we had to work with.” 

If she had a fully stocked kitchen, she has no doubt that she could knock Blake’s socks off. She is comfortable in the kitchen. The same way she is confident in the ring. The idea of cooking for Blake again is nice, but the idea of helping her learn how to cook is so much more alluring. If anything, it would be far more entertaining. 

“You did warn me. I think we could still make a chef out of you, just might take some practice.” 

Blake chuckles, “Next time, I’m buying us take out.” 

She quirks an eyebrow, a small smile pulls at her lips with the idea, “Next time?” 

If she wasn’t looking so intently she would miss the way Blake’s spine straightens, the way the grip on her fork falters slightly. Blake’s voice is even, if not a little strained, “You know, if this happens again. Aren’t injuries common in boxing?” 

“If you are fighting in real matches, yeah, people get busted up all the time. But at your level - this won’t happen again if I can help it.” She leans back in her chair, hoping the last of what she said doesn't seem like too much. The glint in Blake’s eyes tells her it isn’t and she breathes a little easier. 

Food forgotten, Blake rests her elbows on the table. Propping her chin up on the heels of her palms, her lip curls at the corner as she says, “Are you going to start escorting me out of the ring?” 

Too eager to invest in the banter to think about how much she likes the idea of being Blake’s escort, she snorts, “If you make a habit of falling out of it, I might.”

“And they say chivalry is dead.” Blake deadpans. 

Glancing from Blake down to her plate, she remembers Blake’s doubt in her puns from their first full session. She doesn’t hold back her grin, “Maybe you’ve just been spending time with impastas.” 

Blake groans but it ends in a half chuckle, trying and failing to suppress the small smile that grows with it. Waiting for a snarky quip that never comes, Yang contemplates the heat growing on the back of her neck.

Trying not to fixate on the cute way Blake sneers every time she has to force her fork through clumps of pasta, she takes in the apartment for the first time since they’d arrived. The furniture is all well worn, cozy, and lived in. Plenty of magazines and knick-knacks are strewn about, evidence of comfort and character. To most people, it would seem permanent, but the walls are bare. People hang art like planting roots to make a house a home. Yang is too familiar with baggage to miss that Blake has yet to unpack hers. 

“How long have you lived here?” 

“We moved in a few months ago.” Blake’s eyes drift back down to her plate, suddenly very invested in the state of her food.

Yang learns more from the things Blake doesn’t say. Not wanting to push for a story Blake isn’t willing to tell, she falls back on what she knows. She twirls her fork on her empty plate, keeping her words light, she says, “Did you start collecting take-out menus right away or did you wait until you almost lit the apartment on fire?” 

Blake scoffs to hide the laugh she’s trying to suppress, “Are you telling me you don’t have a single take out menu at home? Because this feels like judgment.” 

“I would never.” She puts a hand to her chest, feigning offense for the sake of it. She has a stash of take-out menus that might rival Blake’s, but Blake doesn’t need to know that yet. 

“Oh really?” Blake challenges, raising a brow. 

A grin stretches her cheeks almost to the point of pain, “Scouts honor.” 

Blake narrows her eyes, “Why do I have the feeling you were never a scout at all?” 

“I’ve been camping, like, twice. Does that count?” 

“I don’t think so,” she says, stabbing another chunk of pasta with her fork, “I’ve been camping more than that, and I’m no scout.” 

“Really?” Yang rebuts, chuckling at the way Blake looks at the pasta as if it has committed a crime, “I didn’t know you could get takeout delivered in the wilderness.” 

“Funny.” Blake says, shaking her head, her eyes fall on a distant memory, “There were a lot of weekends that my dad had to go out of town for work, so my mom and I would go camping. No takeout, we would fish and eat whatever we caught. Every once in awhile we’d get some really big ones.” 

Blake’s eyes shine, the memory bringing the most genuine smile Yang’s ever seen to her face, “She’d dive in after them sometimes.”

“Your mom sounds like a badass.” 

“Oh, she is.” 

“Are you close?” 

“It’s been a while, but we used to be. On a few of those camping trips rain would start dumping out of the sky with no warning, we had to hide out in our tent. It made for a lot of great conversations. We couldn’t do much else until the rain stopped,” Blake shifts, sighs, “I swear she was a human lie detector, she always saw right through me. She knew what I was thinking before I did half the time.” 

By the end of Blake’s recollection, her tone is so solemn it makes Yang’s heartache. They both know loss, it’s just a different color. She doesn’t know what went wrong in Blake’s life, but it was clear that something had. Everyone has pain that deserves to be felt. It is hard not to think about all the moments she didn’t get to have with Summer and the moments she wished she hadn’t had with Raven. 

She swallows the lump in her throat, staying in the present was what she did best. So she does. 

Not letting the memory consume her, she says, “How’s your head feeling?”

A glint of life comes back to Blake’s eyes, “It hurts a little less than before.” 

“That’s a good sign. Let me clean up our dishes while you relax.” Taking care of people is such an ingrained habit by now she doesn’t think much of it, popping up out of her chair on instinct. 

“You really don’t have to.” Blake moves quickly to get up, but she sinks back down into her chair with a wince. Squinting her eyes and gripping the edge of the table, Yang sees her fingers go white with the pressure of her grip on the wood. 

“Please? I want to. Meet you in the living room?” She tentatively rests her hand over one of Blake’s, feeling her grip on the table loosen. It isn’t that Blake isn’t strong enough, it’s that she shouldn’t have to be right now, and Yang needs her to know that, “You can clean up the next one, okay?” 

“Okay.” Blake doesn’t look at her, but her shoulders relax and her hand slips from the edge of the table. Resting for the first time since they entered her home. 

\--

The daylight that filtered in through the shades earlier in the day has become a wash of fading oranges and reds on the ceiling. When she makes her way back into the living room Blake is curled up on one end of the couch, arms wrapped around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. Clad in fresh pajamas that Yang has to fight the urge to call cute.

As Yang rounds the arm of the couch, Blake looks up at her, a crooked half smile pulling up to uncertain eyes, “I wasn’t sure what to do. How do you usually pass the time when you are recovering?” 

She can’t place the exact reason why it feels like there is too much air in her lungs. It could be Blake’s bashful smile or the way she absentmindedly rolls the fabric of her pants between her fingers, or the way the glints of setting sunlight make her amber eyes ignite. Maybe it’s all of those things. 

Letting out a breath to find a little bit of relief, she says, “I haven’t had a concussion in a while, but usually, I just let Ruby talk my ear off about whatever her new favorite thing is or we play games or both.” 

Blake’s smile is soft, the same way it had been when they were making dinner, “That’s really sweet. She’s lucky to have someone like you.” 

She’d spent the afternoon telling Blake all kinds of details about Summer and how they grew up, but her relationship with Ruby isn’t something she can talk about as easily. She changes the subject quickly. 

Being silly has always worked as a great distraction. She puts on her biggest grin and rubs her hands together like she’s about to come up with the most dastardly plan, “Alright, there is not a single person in their twenties these days that doesn’t have a closet full of board games, lemme at ‘em.” 

Blake tilts her head toward the other end of the room, stifling a chuckle in her knees, “They are Ilia’s. It’s the coat closet by the front door.” 

There are more options than she expected, like a lot. The whole shelf is filled with unevenly sized game boxes, smaller ones shoved into gaps, a few sit on a slant. She’s sure if she closes the door too hard some of them will crash to the floor. 

Reading through all the titles she asks, “Do you and your roommate have a lot of game nights? Most of these require at least three people.”

“We used to,” She smiles fondly at the recollection, but it fades before Yang can really appreciate it, “It’s been a while, years really. Moving to a place where we both don’t know anyone hasn’t really given us a chance to pick it back up.”

“My friends and I do game nights all the time. You both should come to one. Weiss can get a little too competitive when we drink, but it’s always a good time.” A ghost of Blake’s smile returns at the offer and Yang doesn’t let herself think about why she wants to make it grow. 

Blake’s grip on her legs loosens, “Ilia is an unfiltered honesty kind of drunk, so I am sure it would be eventful, to say the least.” 

Yang laughs. The idea of Ilia being the immovable object to Weiss’s unstoppable force over a game of Settlers of Catan is the best mental image she’s had in a while. Well, maybe not the best, but it was sure to be a highlight of an upcoming weekend. Another excuse to hang out with Blake outside of the gym is more than welcome, her palms start to sweat at the idea. 

She needs another distraction, so she dives back into the task at hand, “Looks like our options are Monopoly or Pictionary. What do you think?” 

Blake chuckles, “I don’t know if Monopoly is a great way to start a friendship, it feels like asking for trouble.” Yang is used to trouble, but maybe it was time for something different. _Wait, no, focus._

“Ruby and I used to play two person Pictionary all the time. It works great as long as no one draws like shit on purpose.” She pulls Pictionary out from under a few other boxes, keeping a hand up just in case an avalanche of cardboard decides to make its way down off the shelf. 

Blake unfolds herself, resting her feet firmly on the ground. Her eyes are knowing, “Seems like a lot to ask of some people.” 

She sets the box down on the coffee table, resting a hand on her hip, “Oh come on, I compete for a living. Do you really think I would cheat at a game of Pictionary?” 

Blake’s eyes narrow in a way that is entirely too competitive, “I guess not...but I’ve got my eye on you, Xiao Long.” 

The air in her lungs feels normal, but now her mouth is entirely too dry. She swallows the anticipation that shouldn’t be born of such a simple sentence. 

\--

It’s the little things, she realizes, that she notices about Blake. They say more about her than words ever could. Like the way her eyebrows knit together as she draws, eyes locked on the page, look of determination set and unwavering. And the way she holds her tongue between her teeth in her deep concentration. Yang can’t look away, she wouldn’t even if she wanted to. 

Her phone chimes, and it’s the only reason she remembers they are playing a game, “Okay, that’s time.” 

Blake holds up her pad of paper. _This is so unfair_ , Yang thinks, _it’s a sixty-second masterpiece._

“It’s a motorcycle.” Yang says, trying to hide the astonishment in her voice, “Blake, it’s beautiful.” 

“It’s just a motorcycle. There isn’t even shading and it’s so sloppy.” Blake rests the notepad in her lap, wringing her hand on the edge, a questioning look in her eye.

“First of all, how dare you. Motorcycles are majestic and deserve to be called beautiful.”

The patter of Blake’s laugh makes her heart pulse a little harder in her chest, “I think you might be a little biased, but they are pretty cool.” 

“You might have to start drawing shitty on purpose. You are too good at this,” She probably should have mentioned that Ruby, to this day, refuses to play Pictionary with her again. 

Blake scoffs, “I’m not that good.”

“You might not say that once we’ve made it through a few rounds,” Yang sits back against the couch, letting the smirk on her face grow as Blakes smile drains. 

“Oh, no.” 

Blake sets the timer on her phone and Yang starts to scribble. She glances at the card with her prompt, trying her best to make something that won’t be completely embarrassing. Hunching over the small notepad resting on her knee, she just hopes Blake can guess what it is. Otherwise, this will be a short game. 

“Time.” 

Yang holds up her drawing with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old presenting a parent with macaroni art, knowing full well that Blake might completely regret letting her come to the apartment at all. 

They sit in silence for a while, it’s comfortable, light, and warm like the sun that had just set. A car alarm goes off outside, muted by distance but still easy to hear in the quiet. Blake methodically taps her pencil against her leg as she takes in Yang’s sketch. The longer she looks at it the more Yang has to hold back laughter. 

“...Is it a...bear?” 

“Nope.” 

Blake cocks her head to the side and squints harder, “Is it a spider…?” 

There is no way Blake can make it through more rounds of this, the look on her face is painful. Deciding to spare her from having to make another guess, Yang rests the notepad between them on the couch, “It’s a bumblebee.” 

Blake’s jaw drops, but she snaps it shut a second later, looking frantically between Yang and the notepad. “Okay. No.” She chuckles, “HOW...how is that a bee?” 

She has to defend her work, even though she knows it’s a fight she has no hope of winning, “It’s a front view! Come on Blake I even put the little ticks by the wings so you could tell they were flapping!” 

“Oh gods, those are wings?” She leans in to squint at Yang’s note pad even harder, “I thought they were ears…” 

“Not everyone can be a master artist like you, I do what I can with what I have.” She leans forward to observe her own work again, resting her elbows on her crossed legs. Her hands hang loose in front of her, fingers clenching when she realizes how close they are to Blake’s outstretched leg. 

“It doesn’t make sense. You said you and Ruby played... _how?_ ” Blake has given up looking at the sketch, instead looking at her, _more like through her_ , with absolute disbelief. The sound she makes is something between a giggle and a sigh. Another thing to add to the list of things Yang has to fight the urge to call cute. 

A sly smile forms on her lips as she tries to ignore the heat rising up the back of her neck, “She might have refused to keep playing after the second time…” 

Yang doesn’t expect it when Blake bursts into a fit of laughter so strong she has to clutch her own stomach. The sound clamps down on Yang’s heart and doesn’t let go. It’s such a new feeling, it’s hard to contain, warmth spreads as she watches Blake let go. 

Once Blake is wiping tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, the occasional giggle bubbling back up in her throat, Yang asks, “Of all the things, I never thought my lack of art skills would be what killed someone. You gonna be okay?” 

“I think I will recover,” Her laughter fades into a huff as she leans back against the arm of the couch, “So I am guessing you weren’t the one to draw that dragon?” 

“Shocking I know. I had the professionals handle that. It had to be right.”

“How long have you had it?” 

Yang impulsively grips her right forearm with a smile, just below where the ink stops, she doesn’t have to look at it to recall every detail sunk into her skin. “It was the first thing I did when I turned eighteen. Ruby insisted on coming with me. She used to watch those tattoo competition shows, I think she just wanted to see what it was like up close.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Blake says fondly with a slight shake of her head.

“Jaune’s older sister is a tattoo artist.” She says, thinking back to Saph’s living room. How a tear came to her eye when she explained exactly what she was looking for. “I sat down with her a few months before I got it. She ended up drawing a few different options before we decided on this one.”

She looks at the dragon that serpentines up and down her arm, bending and turning to fit perfectly against muscle. The yellows and reds of it contrasting against the dark black and grey clouds that lay beneath it, only broken up by the rose petals scattered from her shoulder all the way down past her elbow. She runs her fingers over a slight depression in the skin, softer than the rest, hidden under the ink. 

“It’s beautiful,” Blake’s smile is sweet, her eyes still fixed on the tattoo, taking in every detail. 

“Thank you. It reminds me to appreciate the little things.” It’s a slip, the couch is too comfortable, Blake is too close, her nerves are too raw. She’d spent the whole night pulling them up, exposing the roots.

“Like what?” Blake’s voice is small like she hasn’t quite committed to asking the question even after it’s passed her lips.

There are so many things she could say, so many details to cover, but it’s too soon. She’d spent so much time pouring foundations for relationships only to be left standing on its surface before a house could be built. Most people are temporary, it’s hard to let herself hope Blake isn’t.

“The moments I had rather than the ones I lost.”

This time the silence that hangs between them is fragile, vulnerable in its honesty. She can feel Blake’s eyes on her skin. If Yang didn’t know better, she’d call the look on Blake’s face one of pity, but it’s not. It’s one of mourning. An unspoken appreciation of loss. Blake pulls her knees up, resting her notepad on her thighs. Yang hears the pencil start to scratch against paper. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Blake says, sly, mysterious. _Adorable._ She doesn’t look up again, eyes set in determination on the page, tongue gently clenched between her teeth with concentration. Yang doesn’t have the heart to push the subject. It’s too easy to let the moment consume her. So she does. 

\--

After what feels like an eternity Blake stops sketching, snapping the cover of the notepad closed with an embarrassed smile. Yang has to pretend she hadn’t been staring at her the whole time, she bolts up off the couch, hastily packing up the Pictionary box. Clearing the emotion from her throat, she says, “I think for your sake, we can call this a draw.” 

“Did you just…?”

Her entire body flashes hot, realization only just hitting her, “Um, would you believe me if I told you that one wasn’t on purpose?” 

“Absolutely not.” Blake tries to keep a serious expression, but light touches her amber eyes and a fond smile cracks the surface. Softer than it’s ever been.

Yang holds her gaze, freezes in place. This is Blake coming out of her shell, it’s what she looks like when she lets her walls down, Yang is sure of it. The thought of being the reason for it is almost too much, almost, but really it’s nowhere near enough. 

She finally turns away, remembering she was in the middle of doing something. She packs the box as fast as she can, not sure why she feels the need to rush. 

Blake leisurely stretches out on the couch, taking advantage of the newly cleared space, “Should I try to find a deck of cards or something? I think Ilia might have some in her room.” She blinks slowly, obvious fatigue in her sluggish movements. 

Blake’s jaw cracks with a yawn and Yang remembers why she’s really here.

She’s here because Blake needed help, nothing more. She’s here because of professional responsibility and that has to mean something. She simply isn’t allowed. This is where she toes the line, even if it rips at heartstrings, “How’s your head?”

Blake keeps the notepad close to her chest, smiling warmly, “Better.” 

“I’m glad,” She says, trying not to let the guilt seep into her voice. She was Blake’s trainer first, even if this felt like the start of a friendship, she can’t be the one to make it more than that. “You should probably get some rest.” 

“Haven’t I been resting this whole time?” The sass she has come to know from Blake is still there, but the once sharp edge of a smirk is now replaced by a gentle quirk of her lips. 

She’s not sure if it’s because it’s late and Blake’s tired or if she’s grown comfortable enough with Yang to loosen the straps of her armor. She’s also not sure which one is worse. All she knows is the way Blake is looking at her is making it harder to walk away. 

“You know what I mean.” She hides behind what she hopes sounds like a carefree laugh. The words are still light coming out, despite the sinking feeling in her stomach. “I’ll call a Lyft so you can get some sleep.” 

“Wait -” Blake starts, but stops herself. Yang doesn’t move toward the door, transfixed by the sudden turmoil in Blake’s eyes. A stillness blankets the room, the levity sucked out in an instant. Yang curses herself for not appreciating the feeling of too much air in her lungs before because now there is none. She chokes on the silence. 

Blake picks at the edge of the notepad in her hands, uncertainty forming shadows in places they shouldn’t be, “I can drive you back to the gym to pick up your bike in the morning. If...If that’s okay with you, I mean..” Blake’s hands still as she lets out a breath, “It’s late. You don’t have to go.” 

Oxygen slowly spills back into Yang’s lungs, delayed only by the waver in Blake’s words. “That would be nice,” Yang’s never seen her so conflicted, but it’s clear that Blake has worn doubt as a second skin so often that she can’t tell the difference, “Are you sure?”

The urge to reach for Blake’s hand and reassure her like she had before is overwhelming, but she can’t help but think it would hold a different weight right now. She shoves her hands in her pockets to stop herself, fiddling with the edge of her phone to quiet the ripple of guilt that runs through her. 

“You are stranded because of me.” Blake sighs, defeated.

Blake folds in on herself. Yang remembers the car ride. She remembers how Blake's whole body shook in this same spot hours earlier, eyes filled with fear. It starts to make sense.

She sits on the edge of the coffee table. Leaning as close as she dares to, speaking softly with conviction, “I’m not stranded. I chose to be here. I’ll stay, but only if that’s what you want.” 

“It was my stupid mistake.” Blake says, resolute in her belief, muscles rigid like she’s bracing for something. 

_Oh._ These aren’t Blakes words at all, they’re someone else’s. Concern knits Yang’s brows together, “You didn’t ask for this. Blake, It’s not your fault.” 

If she wasn’t looking directly at Blake she wouldn’t see the way her fingers turn white constricting against the couch cushions, the way her eyes widen with disbelief before they dart away to nothing, in particular, the way her jaw clenches before she smoothes over her entire expression. 

“Let me get you a blanket.” Blake briskly makes her way to her room, disappearing without looking back. Yang wonders what else she’s had to run from. 

She sits uneasy for a few minutes, not really sure what to do while she waits. When Blake doesn’t reappear she picks up the long-forgotten Pictionary box and balances it back on its shelf. Closing the door softly and leaning back against it, she looks at Blake’s door. It’s slightly ajar. She can see a sliver of the room beyond it but looking too long feels intimate for some reason so she stops herself. 

She plops back down on the couch, resting her arms on the back of it. After a moment she adjusts, moves her hands to her lap. She watches the door and shifts again, and again, suddenly self-conscious for the first time in years. She hears the creak of the door swinging open and breathes a sigh of relief. 

Blake stops just shy of the coffee table holding a pillow and blanket, cracking a wry smile to distract from bloodshot eyes, “I’m sorry, it’s probably not going to be very comfortable.” 

“Are you kidding?” She bounces on the cushions to make a show of testing them, “I bet it’s going to be great. This is plush compared to other impromptu sleeping arrangements.” 

Blake quirks a curious eyebrow but doesn’t ask.

Yang stops bouncing. If she can get Blake to smile one more time before they go to sleep she’ll rest easier, “Okay, that sounded way worse out loud than it did in my head.”

“Tell me about it in the morning?” She says through a yawn, holding out the blanket. 

“Only the least embarrassing ones,” Yang winks as she sets the blanket on her lap, “I have a reputation to maintain.” 

Blake scoffs with a shake of her head, a small warm smile touches her lips. It’s enough. Yang starts to unfold the blanket, lifting her legs up onto the couch and covering them.

“Yang?” 

She looks up at Blake to find somber eyes and the same warm smile, “Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For...everything.” 

The words that come to mind feel too heavy, too close to her heart to be poured out just yet. She nods, smiles, hopes it’s enough. Blake holds her gaze, her lips quirk a little higher, smile finally touching her eyes. The moment fades and Blake starts to walk to her door, but hesitates and looks back. 

“Goodnight, Yang.” 

“Goodnight.” 

She sits and watches the door, motionless, muscles atrophied, and turned to dust. She can’t explain the magnetism she feels. Every atom taught, skewed in the direction of Blake’s room. Like part of her is already there. Someone lays into their car horn out on the street and it’s enough to jar Yang out of her thoughts. She rests her head on the pillow and pulls the blanket up to her chin, swathed in the scent of lavender and honey. She’s never realized it is her favorite smell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I have been wanting to write some kind of boxing/training AU for these two for a while and finally got around to it. Let me know what you all think!
> 
> I also have a Tumblr if you'd like to follow me there, all updates are posted there as well. 
> 
> [@letseethroughdaphneblue](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/letsseethroughdaphneblue)


End file.
